IMPRISONED IN THE FLOODED MINE
Mr. Halford looked up from the paper that he was reading at the breakfast-table in the pleasant Philadelphia home, and exclaimed, "Here's an account of a terrible colliery disaster, wife; and I do believe it is in Warren Jones's mine, the very one you and Nellie visited a few days ago."
"Oh, husband, it can't be!"
"It certainly is, though. 'Raven Brook Colliery. Flooded last evening just as men were about to quit work. Rushing waters cut off retreat of nine men and boys, of whose fate nothing is yet known. Rest escape. Water still rising. But little hope of a rescue. Following is list of victims: Sterling, Evert, Tooley——'"
"Not Derrick Sterling, father, nor Paul Evert, nor Bill Tooley?" interrupted Miss Nellie, as she left her seat and went to look over his shoulder.
"Yes, my dear, those are the very names. Derrick, Paul, and Monk—not Bill—Tooley; and here is something more about one of them:
"'Derrick Sterling, whose name appears among those of the victims, is the only son of the late Gilbert Sterling, a mining engineer, formerly well known in this city. The young man was seen at the foot of the slope just before the final rush of waters. He might easily have escaped, but went back into the mine in the vain attempt to save his friend Paul Evert, a crippled lad. He fully realized the terrible risk he was running, for his last words were, "If we don't get out, come and look for us." This is a notable instance of modern heroism, and is an example of that greatest of all love which is willing to sacrifice life for friendship.'"
"Poor Derrick! Poor little Paul! Oh, it is too awful!" and tender-hearted Nellie Halford burst into tears.
So all the world knew that Derrick Sterling was a hero, and that, alive or dead, he was somewhere in that flooded mine. After that morning thousands of people who had never heard his name before eagerly scanned the daily papers for more news concerning him and the poor fellows whose fate he was sharing.
Derrick had not gone far in his search for Paul Evert when his lamp, which had been burning dimly for some minutes, though unnoticed in his excitement, gave an expiring flash and went out. The boy's impulse was to return to the foot of the slope for a new supply of oil. Then he remembered that he had a canful with him, the one he had almost unconsciously snatched up when he started on his present errand. Filling the lamp in the dark was slow work, and occupied several minutes of valuable time.
While thus engaged his ear caught the sound of rushing waters that seemed to come from out of the darkness behind him. Nearer and nearer it came, and it grew louder and louder, as with trembling hand he struck a match and relighted his lamp. Its first gleam fell upon a wall of black waters rolling rapidly towards him, up the gangway, breast-high, and cutting off all chance of escape.
What should he do? It was useless to run; the waters could run faster than he. It would be impossible to stem that fierce current and fight his way out against it. Must he, then, die, alone in that awful place with no sound save the roar of waters in his ears? Could it be that he should never again see his mother and little Helen and the sunlight? Was his life over, and must he be carried away by the black flood that was reaching out to seize him?
Like a flash these thoughts passed through his mind, and like another flash came a ray of hope. Close beside him was the mouth of a chute belonging to a breast that he knew followed the slant of the vein upward for a great distance.
He sprang towards it, flung his oil-can into it, and in another moment, though the chute was above his head, he had climbed the slippery wall and entered it. As he drew himself up beyond their reach the savage waters made a fierce leap after him, and swept on with an angry, snarling roar. A few minutes later they had risen above the mouth of the chute and completely filled the gangway. Derrick was entombed, and the door was sealed behind him.
In the mean time a similar escape was being effected but a short distance from him, though he knew nothing of it. Monk Tooley and four other men working near him in a distant part of the mine received no intimation of the outbreak of waters and the disaster that was about to overwhelm them. Their first warning of trouble came with the stoppage of the air-currents that supplied them with the very breath of life.
For a few minutes they waited for them to be resumed; then, flinging down their tools, and filled with a strange fear, they started through the maze of galleries towards the slope. On their way they were joined by Aleck, the blacksmith, and Boodle, his helper. Next they came upon Paul Evert, standing anxiously by his door. He had become conscious, without being able to explain how, that something terrible was about to happen, though he had no idea what form the terror was to take.
Joining the fugitives, he was hobbling along as fast as possible, and trying to keep pace with their rapid strides, when Monk Tooley stopped, picked him up, and, holding him like a baby in his strong arms, said, "We'll get on faster dis way, lad."
Half-way to the slope they met the advancing waters from which Derrick had just escaped.
The miner who was in advance gave a great cry of "It's a flood, mates, and it's cut us off. We're all dead men!"
"No we beant!" shouted Monk Tooley. "Up wid ye, men, inter de breast we just passed."
Running back a few steps to the mouth of a chute he had noticed a moment before, the miner tossed Paul up into it much in the same way that Derrick had tossed his oil-can into a similar opening. Springing up after him, Tooley lent a hand to those behind, and with an almost supernatural strength dragged one after another of them up bodily beyond the reach of the flood. Only poor Boodle was caught by it and swept off his feet; but he clutched the legs of the man ahead of him, and both were drawn up together. In another minute they too were sealed in behind an impassable wall of water.
Although they did not know it at the time, they were in a chamber adjoining that in which Derrick had sought refuge, and were divided from him only by a single wall of coal a few feet thick. It was a very small chamber, for the coal found in it proving of an inferior quality, it had quickly been abandoned. The one on the opposite side of the wall from them, in which Derrick found himself, was of great extent, being in fact several breasts or chambers thrown into one by the "robbing out" of their dividing walls of coal.
"Out wid yer lights, men!" cried Monk Tooley as soon as they had all been dragged in. "De air's bad enough now, an' de lamps 'll burn de life outen it. Besides, we'll soon have need of all de ile dat's left in 'em."
The air of that confined space was already heavy and close, with eight men to breathe it, and eight lamps to consume its oxygen. Extinguishing all the others, they sat around one lamp, pricked down low, for they could not bear the thought of absolute darkness.
Monk Tooley had assumed a sort of leadership among them, and by virtue of it he ordered every lunch-pail to be emptied of what scraps of food it contained, and all of it to be given to Paul for safe keeping. There was not much—barely enough of broken crusts and bits of meat to fill Paul's pail; but it was something, and must be doled out sparingly, for already the men gazed at it with hungry eyes.
Then they tried to talk of their situation and discuss the chances of escape. On this subject they had but little to say, however, for they all knew that long before the waters could be lowered so that any attempt to save them could be made, the foul air of that small chamber would have done its fatal work. Indeed, they knew that before one day should have passed their misery would be ended.
Even as they tried to talk, poor Boodle, saying that he was sleepy, lay down on the bare rock floor, where he was almost instantly fast asleep and breathing heavily. "'Tis like he'll never wake again," said one of the miners, gloomily.
"Let him sleep, then; 'tis the easiest way out of it," responded a comrade.
One after another they succumbed to the effects of the heavy atmosphere, and fell asleep. Finally, all excepting the crippled lad, even including Monk Tooley, whose light Paul had taken and set beside him, lay stretched out on the hard floor, sound asleep and breathing in a distressed manner.
Paul felt drowsy, but the horror of his surroundings was too great to admit of his sleeping. He wanted to think, and try and prepare his mind for the awful unknown future that overshadowed him. As he thought, great tears began to run down his thin cheeks, then came a choking sob, and he buried his face in his hands. Gradually he became calm again, and his thoughts resembled delightful dreams, so full were they of pleasant things. In another moment they would have been dreams, and the last of that little band would have been wrapped in a slumber from which neither he nor they would ever have wakened. From this condition a sharp squeak caused Paul to start and look up.
Directly in front of him, and so close that he could have touched it, was a large rat, whose eyes twinkled and glistened in the lamplight. As Paul lifted his head it uttered another squeak and sat up on its hind-legs.
"I do believe it's Socrates," said Paul; and sure enough it was.
Mechanically, and without thinking of what he was about, Paul took a bit of meat from his lunch-pail and tossed it to the rat, which immediately seized it in its mouth and scampered away. Then Paul realized that he was wasting precious food, and made a vain effort to catch the rat. The beast was too quick for him, and darted away towards a dark corner of the chamber, whither Paul followed it, hoping to discover its nest and perhaps recover the meat.
He saw the rat run into a hole in the wall about two feet above the floor; and putting his face down to it, trying to look in, he felt a delicious current of fresh air. It was not very strong, but it caused the flame of his lamp to flicker, so that he withdrew it hurriedly for fear it should be extinguished.
Suddenly he started as though he had been shot, and almost let fall the lamp in his excitement. Had he heard a human voice? Of course not! How absurd to imagine such a thing! But there it was again; and it said,
"Holloa! Is anybody in there?"
The sound came to his ear distinctly enough this time through the hole, and placing his mouth close to it, Paul shouted back,
"Holloa! Yes, we're in here, and we want to get out. Who are you?"
The boy almost screamed for joy at the answer which came to this question; for it was,
"I'm Derrick Sterling. Are you Paul Evert?"
Derrick was almost as greatly affected when the voice said,
"Yes, I'm Paul, and there are a lot more of us in here, and we are stifling. But oh, Derrick, dear Derrick! I'm so glad you're not drowned."
Then Paul went back to the others, and found it almost impossible to waken them. He finally succeeded; and when they comprehended his great news, each one had to go to the hole, draw in a deep breath of the fresh air, and call through it to Derrick, for the sake of hearing him answer. It was so good to hear a human voice besides their own; and though they knew he was a prisoner like themselves, it somehow filled them with new hope and longings for life. They had no tools with them, but all fell to work enlarging the hole with knives, the iron handles of their lunch-pails, or whatever else they could lay hands upon, while Paul stood by and held the lamp.
Although Derrick had plenty of air and space to move about in, his situation had been fully as bad as theirs, for he had been alone. Nothing is so terrible under such circumstances as solitude, with the knowledge that you are absolutely cut off from mankind, and may never hear a human voice again.
He had pricked his lamp down very low so as to save his oil, and was lying at full length on the cold floor, a prey to the most gloomy thoughts. All sorts of fantastic forms seemed to mock at him out of the darkness. He could almost hear their jeering laughter, and was rapidly giving way to terror and despair, when a ray of light flickered for a moment on the rocky roof above him.
Springing to his feet and rubbing his eyes, he looked in the direction from which it seemed to have come, and saw it again, shining through what he had taken for a solid wall of rock. Then he called out, and Paul Evert, the very one of whom he had been in search, answered him.
Half an hour later the hole was sufficiently large to allow a man to squeeze through it, and Derrick had thrown his arms around Paul, and hugged him in his wild joy and excitement.
The thing for which the miners felt most grateful, next to their escape from the little stifling chamber and their meeting with Derrick, was his can of oil. Now they knew that with care they might keep a lamp burning for many hours; and the dread of total darkness, which is greater than that of hunger, or thirst, or any form of danger, no longer oppressed them.
Aleck, the blacksmith, had a watch, and from it they learned that it was still early in the evening; though it already seemed as if they had been imprisoned for days. Some of the men began to complain bitterly of hunger and to beg for food, but Monk Tooley said they should not eat until the watch showed them that morning had arrived.
To divert their thoughts, he proposed that they should make their way along the breast to its farther end, so as to be as near as possible to the slope and a chance of rescue. Acting upon this advice, they made the attempt. It was a most difficult undertaking, for the floor was of smooth slate, sloping at a sharp angle towards the gangway. It was like trying to crawl lengthwise of a steep roof to get from one row of the timbers that supported the upper wall to another. They were several hours on the journey, but finally reached the end of the long breast in safety. There they must wait until relieved from their awful situation by death, or by a rescuing party who would be obliged to tunnel through many yards of rock and coal to reach them.
They managed to construct a rude platform of timbers, on which to rest more comfortably than on the smooth sloping rock floor, and here most of them lay down to sleep.
Derrick and Paul lay side by side, with arms thrown about each other's necks. The former was nearly asleep when his companion whispered, "Dare!"
"Yes, Polly."
"Here's something for you; and if I don't live to get out, you'll always keep it to remember me by, won't you?"
"I shouldn't need it for that, Polly; but I'll always keep it, whatever it is."
It was Paul's sketch of the underground picnic-party, and Derrick knew what it was when he took it and thrust it into the bosom of his shirt, though days passed before he had a chance to look at it.
Three days after this the same men and boys lay on their log platform, in almost the same positions, but they were haggard, emaciated, faint, and weak. Their last drop of oil had been burned, and they were in total darkness. A light would have shown that they lay like dead men.
Suddenly one of them lifts his head and listens. "Thank God! thank God!" he exclaims, in a husky voice, hardly more than a whisper, "I hear them! they're coming!"
Derrick's quick ear had detected the muffled sound of blows, and his words gave new life to the dying men around him.